Musings of a Death Eater
by Indarae
Summary: On the night of a decision, Percy sits down to write a letter and explain what he's done.


A/N: I've always thought Percy has two possible functions in the literary world of JKRowling — either to go bad and betray his family (See another of my fics, "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" for a more in depth examination of my thoughts on that) or as a minor hero in the midst of the war, despite his disbelief at the beginning. Having portrayed Percy once as a broken man, I decided it was time to take another tangent. And thus, Musings of a Death Eater.

Musings of a Death Eater

Dear Mum and Dad,

By the time the owl reaches you, I'll either be dead or in hiding. I doubt you'll know which of the two for quite some time. If I'm dead and they bring my body to you, don't listen to what they tell you. I die fighting Voldemort, not helping. The mark on my arm means nothing. Let the world think me a traitor and practitioner of the Dark Arts — so long as you and the rest of the family know the truth, it doesn't matter. I am not a Death Eater. I'm a spy. And until yesterday, I was bloody good at it.

I made a mistake. When I heard that Ron had been injured, I made the mistake of slipping into St. Mungo's to make sure he was alright. He was asleep. Would you let him know I was there? And there's a wrapped birthday present beneath my bed. I know his 23rd is almost a month away, but I've bought ahead for most of you, just in case this happened.

I don't think Pansy meant to let slip to Malfoy that I'd been there. I saw her visiting her mum. I do feel sorry for poor Patricia, even if she did make a wrong choice. But, just like her mum, Pansy's made a bad one. I overheard her talking to Malfoy, and I saw the look he gave me when he'd heard it. Malfoy knows I still care what happens to my family. He knows the truth.

I've sent an owl to the Headmaster. If the Mark calls me away before he arrives to spirit me off to some unknown hiding place, I want you to make sure Harry and Hermione and Penny all read this letter as well. Keep fighting. It's far from over, and though my part has been only a small one, I'm proud of what I've been able to accomplish.

No children should have to grow up like I did. Not the way you raised me, Mum, but the hate and horror and constant fear we lived in. Charlie was at Hogwarts when the Potters died. He was safe there. I was at home, and I was old enough to understand the danger. I was only five, but I knew what death was. Oliver and Dina and Penny all felt the same. We were the ones who lost our childhood to the war. Too young for the protections of Hogwarts, too old to not see the pain of our parents and the hatred from all sides. That's why I took up Headmaster Dumbledore's offer. That's why I worked with Professor Snape. That's why I moved away and stopped coming home to visit for the holidays. I love you, Mum. I love you, Dad. I just want you to be proud of me and make sure the work I've put my life into will not be in vain.

Don't let Ron's son grow up in fear. Don't let his generation be as empty as mine.

Your loving son,

Percival

***

"Percy?" He glanced up in surprise, tying the note to Hermes' leg.

"Headmaster? But... I thought it was too late..."

A patient smile. "Not quite yet. Now send off your owl, and we'll be on our way. Severus has offered to be your secret keeper. He told me he's found a lovely place for you to stay."

Percy nodded silently and opened the window to let Hermes fly off into the darkness. "You might have to help Pansy Parkinson as well."

"I can handle it all, Percy. It's out of your hands, now."

Yes. Out of his hands. Percy nodded again and picked up the suitcase containing all the luggage he'd need out of the tidy rooms of his flat. He followed Dumbledore into the fire. Out of his hands. For once, it had become something he was unable to control. And this time... letting go felt nice.

A/N: I suppose I could continue with this, but I'm not sure — thoughts? Questions? Comments? Pithy sayings? Leave a calling card and let me know!


End file.
